


Denial (Is a Six Letter Word)

by OneDay_of_Denial



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester in Denial, Destiel - Freeform, Follows the plot, Happy Ending, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Oneshot, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 09:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20905754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneDay_of_Denial/pseuds/OneDay_of_Denial
Summary: Good things don’t happen to Dean.His mom is dead, monsters are real and Soulmarks are the worst thing to happen to humanity. But then he gets his own and he’s drowning.What kind of a word was perdition anyway?No, good things really don’t happen to Dean.





	Denial (Is a Six Letter Word)

**Author's Note:**

> Tried to keep this as close to the actual plot as possible so all the big jumps are just in between cannon story lines. Enjoy!

A sleek black car sped though the night, as rain fell over the quiet road. Inside it, the driver held onto the wheel tight enough that his knuckles turned white, doing his best to pretend the one next to him didn’t have silent tears falling down his face. He still glanced over every once in a while though, only to see the man’s shoulders shake and his fingers still numbly pass over the words on his forearm. The movement so like the one their dad did, that it did nothing to keep the guilt he himself felt at bay.  
Turning his eyes back to the road Dean held onto the wheel tighter, pushing the gas paddle just a tad more, with the inability to do anything else.  
They had nowhere to go, but it didn’t matter. He just had to drive.  
Watching Sam break as he did in that moment was not very high on Dean’s list of things he wanted when the day started. It reminded him of the way their dad looked so often through his life. Brought back the guilt and the pain and made it tenfold. Too late now though.  
Dean continued to drive.  
It was all that stupid mark’s fault; he grit his teeth. Soulmarks. What a joke.  
.  
.  
.  
When Dean was very little and his mom was still alive he didn’t think like that. Not as she talked with soft words and big smiles about how she knew what would be the first words out of his dads mouth when they met, years and years before it actually happened. Not when she so proudly showed off her forearm to anyone and everyone.  
He remembers her words always being kind, expression happy as she tucked him to bed and made up ridiculous stories of what would be the words showing up on his own arm when he gets older. She made him look forward to it. To having what his parents have; as he watched them talk softly in front of the TV some nights long after his bedtime. They loved each other, even at three years old it was an obvious truth.  
But then she died.  
She was taken from him by a fire; a demon. And even at the age of four, seeing what it did to his dad, how it broke him, was more then enough to have him decide Soulmarks are a joke and he didn’t need a soulmate at all.   
Not when he watched his own kind hearted father kill creatures that came straight out of his nightmares with pure rage in his eyes. Not when he has to watch him drink himself unconscious every night as he traces the letters on his forearm with an uncoordinated touch while he lies awake in yet another uncomfortable motel bed next to Sammy and pretends he’s asleep.  
Watching the man who has once smiled every day break as he did, made him never want to put himself in that position. Nothing is worth that pain visible in every breath that his dad takes. No one is.  
.  
.  
.  
Dean was eight on the day that he turned his back on the rest of the cheep ass motel room so Sammy can’t see him cry the night that he couldn’t remember what his mom’s voice sounded like. As he counted the tacky flowers on the wallpaper with a blurry vision, clutching the gun under his pillow and wondering how long it will be before John comes back this time.  
He was also eight when he decided he would rather burn his own arm then get his Soulmark as he watched the vampires head roll towards him, feeling like he is going to vomit.  
They traveled for years. Hunting monsters, taking care of Sammy and worrying if this will be the day that his dad drinks himself to death. They traveled and killed and Dean learned not to vomit anymore. He learned how to cook for his baby brother with just a few cents to their name and no idea when John will come back, or if he ever will. Dean learned how to cut out a werewolves heart on his own and with his stomach being in one place. He grew and aged and hated that this is his life now; but he had to get over that. Because this is his life now. And cowards who have feelings and reminisce on the past don’t survive this life. That is a luxury he doesn’t have. Not Dean. Not ever.  
By the time that his own mark came in Dean was determined that even if he met his soulmate he will just walk away. So it only took a moment to tear his own shirt apart and tie the fabric sloppily onto his forearm to cover the words that he was too afraid to even read, as they showed up on the eve of his twelveth birthday.  
Seeing the covered up arm John just raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. They had a ghost to kill. No time to deal with Dean and his feelings.  
The resolve to not read the words lasted only a few days; as his curiosity got the best of him. Reading the words doesn’t mean he has to act on it. Yes, reading it once won’t hurt anyone. However, actually reading it only left Dean staring before huffing and covering it up again with more force then necessary.  
What kind of a word was perdition anyway?  
He googled it. It wasn’t a nice one.  
.  
.  
.  
From one town to the next Dean managed to steal an arm guard; shrugging his shoulders when Sam asked him why. John never asked.  
That was a good thing though. Finding out you’re going to hell, probably more literally then anyone else would think possible, wasn’t something he was happy sharing with anyone else.  
Some nights he would feel an itch to take the damn guard off and read it over and over just to check if maybe he saw it wrong. Maybe it’s not a literal thing and he doesn’t go to hell. It felt like a joke. I mean, who goes to hell? Right? Sometimes he would close himself in the bathroom and actually read it. Sometimes he would cry about it. Tried to burn the words off once too, but all that did was leave him with burns on his skin and words still very much there.  
.  
.  
.  
He stopped crying by the time he was thirteen. There was no point in crying. He always knew he would die anyway. So he stopped crying and started training harder, because he is Dean Winchester dammit. He is not going down without one hell of a fight.  
He also refused to think of what this means about his soulmate; or more importantly about what his soulmate is. Some kind of a nutjob would be the easiest answer.  
Dean doubted it though. He was never that lucky.  
“The hell is wrong with your arm, boy?” Said boy did his best not to wince as Bobby asked the most obvious question the second he was in the door. Of course it was Bobby.  
Dad just passed by them and went straight for the kitchen, and undoubtedly the beer there, while Dean shrugged his shoulders and avoided the other man’s eyes. Not really an answer, but not much he can say about this either.   
Hey, yes, it says here I’m going to hell. So I would rather not look at it.  
Yes, that would go by real well.  
“Dean doesn’t like his Soulmark.” Sam chimed in from behind him, making him grit his teeth. Of course he fucking doesn’t like his Soulmark. In the kitchen a bottle was set on the counter a little too hard. What is there to like?  
He said nothing though, and just passed by the man to actually enter the house.  
Thankfully Bobby left it at that, and aside from a few glances towards the arm guard, didn’t say anything more about it. Dean wasn’t sure if he was grateful or disappointed at that, but he went with grateful. It was the safer option.  
Of course, Sam turned twelve eventually too; got his own Soulmark. The difference between the two of them? Well, Sam for one loved it. He showed Dean the three neatly written words with a smile the second he was awake, excitement in his voice.  
It almost reminded him of their mom. Of how she was always so happy to show everyone.  
Dean’s heart sank even as he did his best to smile, knowing it turned out more of a grimace then anything. Sam was too happy to notice though, practically bouncing where he stood.  
Something bitter settled over him a little later as he stood under the spray of water in the shower and stared at his own words. Have a pen? Dean almost wanted to laugh at how fucking normal the words were. Of course Sammy got something normal. Of course he wasn’t fucked over like Dean himself has been; over and over again.   
Punching the wall didn’t feel as good as he thought it would.   
He still did it three more times.  
.  
.  
.  
Dean started sleeping around. He started sleeping with anyone who would have him just to show everyone that he doesn’t care about the damn Soulmark. It doesn’t matter what it says because he has no intention of meeting the person on the other end of it. So he started flirting and sleeping with various girls he would meet as they pass though town.  
After having a bit too much to drink in a bar one night while on the verge of seventeen, men got on the list too. He ain’t gonna discriminate. If they’re hot, they’re hot. Anyone is good as long as they make him forget about the shit scribble on his arm for a little while.  
He did however make sure to be a bit more careful with those; only ever flirting with them at night when neither Sam nor John would ever see or get a word of it. Not wanting that particular part of his life to get out. He may be a bit bisexual or whatever but he was not suicidal.  
So Dean drank, and slept around, and got real good at ignoring the Soulmark that felt like a real itch under his skin on some days. He made it a point to not even glance at anymore even when it was uncovered for the few minutes that it took him for a quick shower. He was still the only one to ever see it though. And he was making sure it stayed that way no matter how hot the waitress is that asks him for a peek in hopes that it’s her words there.  
They never are of course. He felt like scoffing at them at even thinking they would be.  
“Wrong guy, sugar.” Dean let his most charming smile slip on after downing the last shot. “We could still have some fun though.” He said with a wink and a hand on her thigh.  
She smiled and followed him to the bathroom in the back. They always did.  
“What has gotten into you, Dean? This isn’t you.” Sam was worried. Of course Sam was worried. Dean would have rolled his eyes if it didn’t mean him falling on the floor. As it is though, the wall’s were moving and if he didn’t lie down right now he will throw up.  
“S’me“ Finally he managed to get to the bed, trying to sit down but more or less falling onto it instead. The impact had him wincing before rolling around, cause damn it he was sore, and did nothing to get the worried look off of the three headed Sam. This time he did roll his eyes. “M’fie”  
“Dean…“  
Ignoring him, Dean just turned his back to the other before they fought again. They’ve been fighting a lot lately and Dean was far too drunk to deal with it right now.  
“Dean!”  
The next morning they didn’t talk. Barely even acknowledging each other while Dean just glared though his hangover. His eyes more then once falling on the always exposed Soulmark on Sam’s forearm and feeling like the words were personally offending him. Sometimes it felt like they were.  
.  
.  
.  
John came back soon after and everything was back to normal. They traveled and hunted and argued; so Dean took a page from his dad’s handbook and started drinking more and more too. More then once coming home after two days of sex and binge drinking he doesn’t even remember properly, only to be met by Sam’s disproving look.   
He ignored it. Like he ignores so many things lately.  
Sam left.  
Dean drank for three days straight.  
.  
.  
.  
With Sam gone they both threw themselves into even more hunts. Sometimes apart, sometimes together. John acted as if Sam died and Dean learned pretty quickly not to mention the other in front of him if he didn’t want a bottle thrown at his head.  
The binge drinking had to stop after that as at least one of them had to be sober enough at night during a case, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be John. He still found enough time for a little bar hopping and a quickie or two between cases. His dad never asked when he came home in the middle of the night; never nagged him like Sam would.   
He ignored how much he misses it. No feelings for Dean.  
.  
.  
.  
He ignored a lot of things now as he continued driving and gave Sam as much privacy as one can while sharing the same car. He was definitely ignoring the Hi I’m Sam that was written on Jess’s forearm when she opened the door for him a few days back.  
Fucking Soulmarks.   
.  
.  
.  
Sam was the one binge drinking this time. He was the one that got an arm guard in the first town they hit. Dean just stood by and stayed quiet.  
“You were right.” Sam downed his drink and ticked the bartender for another. “Meeting your soulmate brings nothing but pain. Keep away.” He sounded bitter, as he downed another one.   
“That’s the plan.” Dean has never said it out loud before, but he did now as the two of them sat in a noisy bar and drinking until they forget that this is their life. Downing his own drink, he let his eyes fall on the cutie to his left with a wink. She smiles and Sam rolls his eyes.  
It got better the more hunts they took, Sam was slowly becoming more himself again. The arm guard stayed on though.  
Of course it was Bobby again who commented on it, but Dean just shook his head as Sam walked straight into the kitchen. He didn’t comment again.  
Life moved on; John died; and life moved on again.  
.  
.  
.  
More then once Dean had thought; This is it. This is the time I die. But it never happened. Even when he wanted it, in that moment of weakness; when he wanted to just die and get it over it, letting himself glance towards his arm guard for only a second; it never happened and life still moved on and continued screwing them over.  
Djinn, demons; fucking demons; werewolves, vampires and all the other sons of bitches didn’t manage to kill them. They were good at this after all, lived this life since they could walk.  
Dean was just getting confident that the words on his arm will never come true when shit hit the fan, and Sam died.  
They weren’t paying attention for just that one moment and he was gone. Just fucking gone.  
He drank and drank and drank, feeling the Soulmark as if it was burning his skin all the way to the bone, and knowing exactly what he was going to do. Knowing what he must have known deep down since the damn morning the cursed thing showed up. Dean threw the bottle at the wall and laughed because of course this is how it all goes to hell. A bit more literally then he was ready for at the moment, if he was honest with himself. But was there ever any other choice? No.  
Screw everything if he was going to let Sam just die.  
.  
.  
.  
Dean was drunk. Sam was pissed. And all was back to how it’s supposed to be. He brought his almost empty bottle up in a toast to no one as he sat on the floor of their motel room, empty aside from himself, because of course Sam can’t look at him anymore without feeling guilty. “Cheers.” He downed the rest of the whiskey and let the bottle fall to the ground. “See you in a year you son of a bitch.”  
.  
.  
.  
Of course he was stupid to think that Sam was just going to let it go, let him go to hell without a fight, but Dean was just so damn tired of the fight. It has been a decade since the day he found out he was going to go to hell and he was just tired. Deciding to rather spend the year he has left eating food, saving people and getting laid as much as possible. Sam was not on board with that plan.  
He didn’t know of course, didn’t know of the words on Dean’s arm. Didn’t know that apparently the fight isn’t over when he dies, because of course it’s not. There were a few times as months past that he thought about showing him. As Sam researched and tried seeing things that just weren’t there until he fell asleep while sitting up. Dean thought about showing him that ‘Hey. Not gone forever if this thing is right’ as he pulled the blanket over him and put the laptop and books away. But he also didn’t want to give him hope that may not exist when all is said and done.  
So Dean kept his mouth shut and arm guard on.  
“Promise me you won’t take the arm guard off when you bury me.” Staring at his own arm and listening to the shuffle of papers was when Dean finally spoke for the first time that day.  
“What?” The shuffling stopped and Sam was looking at him wide eyed from his spot in Bobby’s kitchen. It guickly turned into a look of understanding but also denaturation. “I’m not burying you Dean. No one is burying anyone.”  
“No, you are. And I need you to promise me not to move it.” Their eyes met now and he knew this was the one thing he is not backing down from. Some things are better off not being seen, and his Soulmark was definitely one of them.  
“Dean-”  
“Promise me.” The silence was long enough where Dean opened his mouth to speak again, but Sam looked away and spoke first instead, staring at his own arm guard now.  
“I promise.”  
“Thanks, Sammy.” The relief washing over him made a smile tug at his lips, but Sam still frowned when he looked his way again.  
“Did you meet her yet?”  
“Yes.” It was a lie, but Sam didn’t have to know that. No one had to know that.  
.  
.  
.  
When the Hell hounds actually came he was terrified and ended up fighting. Turns out he did have some fight left in him after all.  
It wasn’t enough.  
.  
.  
.  
The sun was bright and it took a few minutes of Dean just lying there on the ground to be able to actually see anything other then just white.  
Breathing still labored from having to dig himself out, he did a quick check of himself to make sure everything was in place. Arms, legs, head, arm guard.  
Good. This is good.  
What wasn’t good, was the damn crate that he was in and the screaming and feeling like his ears were going to explode if it didn’t stop now. It stopped. Dean ran.  
.  
.  
.  
Thinking that Bobby will just accept the fact that Dean was in the land of the living again without a hitch was something that, he learned quite fast, wasn’t true.  
He still brought both of his hands up as he dodged another knife. “Bobby, it’s me!”  
“My ass!”   
Okay, so he may have miscalculated just how easy this will be. It took some blood, salt and holy water for Bobby to finally settle down and believe him. He asked Dean how he got out. The answer of ‘I don’t know’ felt like it was burning his mouth. But it was still the truth. He didn’t actually know how he got out.   
However, whatever got him out was damn powerful if his own grave-site was to go by. The thought made the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he rubbed the arm guard, feeling the need to take it off and check again in hopes that it was gone. He had already checked though; it wasn’t.   
At least Sammy’s still alive.  
But then demons come, and of course it was a demon that got him out. What the fuck else would be strong enough, but a damn demon. The itch that’s been under his skin since he got out just got worse at the though. Figures, Dean Winchester; soulmate of a demon. He would have scoffed if Sam and Bobby weren’t there.  
.  
.  
.  
Pamela’s eyes are burned right out of her sockets with the name Castiel on her lips and Dean really really needs a drink. The fucking hell of a soulmate does he have?  
.  
.  
.  
The demon’s are scared of whatever it is and Dean is done playing around. He needs answers even if it means coming face to face with the thing he has feared since he was a child. It can’t be worse then the pit. Nothing can. At least that’s what he told himself over and over as he and Bobby drew any and every kind of summoning rune in the warehouse.   
In the end Bobby was the one to voice it out. “This is a bad idea.”   
“Yeah, I couldn't agree more, but what other choice do we have?”  
“We could choose life.”   
Dean almost laughed at the words, but had to stop himself, so that it doesn’t look like he’s on a suicide mission he himself isn’t even sure he isn’t on. Instead he held the knife in his hand tighter and spoke up. “Bobby, whatever this is, whatever it wants, it's after me. That much we know, right? I've got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand. “  
.  
.  
.  
Turns out taking a stand was a bad idea. Dean almost fell on his ass as the door’s exploded and a man walked in. Tall, mess of black hair and a trench coat is all he manages to see before the two of them are shooting at it. The light bulbs above it’s head shatter in a shower of sparks as it passes them and Dean is scared because it isn’t even flinching at the bullets.   
Dean braces himself and gets the demon knife, but again Bobby is the one who speaks first. “Who are you?”  
The man, the thing, is staring at Dean as he stops walking and finally speaks; the words making his blood run cold. “I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” His voice is deep, like he has been gurgling nails as a hobby, but all Dean wants to do is scream as the words echo in his head in a way that is making him dizzy. The itch under his skin only gets worse.  
It takes a moment to find his voice and thankfully it doesn’t waver like he feared it would. “The hell you are!” The anger has always been there; anger at his Soulmark, at his soulmate; and this thing is just staring at him with damn blue eyes like it doesn’t even need to blink. He channels it all now and plunges the demon knife into it’s chest with as much force as he has, feeling relief when he sees it sink.  
The relief doesn’t last long though, because the thing isn’t effected and just pulls it out and drops it on the floor like it was made of rubber and they were doing a magic trick. Dean can’t move anymore; it really is a demon.  
Not a moment later and Bobby is on the ground, probably dead, as Dean stands there, terrified out of his mind. And the thing is staring again. It feels like it is staring right into his soul as he feels like he is about to throw up. “We need to talk, Dean. Alone.”   
It knows.  
But there’s no time to deal with any of it because Bobby is on the ground and he needs to check if the man is still alive. He barely had time to crouch though before the thing spoke. “Your friend's alive.”  
Swallowing twice to make sure he doesn’t actually throw up, and not moving his eyes from it, Dean stands back up. “Who are you?”  
It definitely wasn’t blinking. “Castiel.”  
“Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?” There was no time for this. He needed to be sure. He needed to know. He needed…he needed for it to not be a demon; he thought as their eyes still kept on one another.   
“I'm an Angel of the Lord.”   
The words made him almost choke but he ended up scoffing instead. “Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing.”  
“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.” Not a waver in it’s voice, nothing. Dean was ready to argue, was about to; because the hell does that mean? Of course he doesn’t have fucking faith. The way he grew up, he’s lucky he has all his limbs attached. Lightning flashes then though, and from the things, Castiel’s, back, a pair of shadowy wings stretches off into the distance; disappearing again as the light goes out.  
Dean stares, and blinks, and gets angry. His blood boiling now as he thinks of all he has seen since he woke up in that damn casket. “Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes.”  
Castiel doesn’t even look affected even though Dean is five second away from stabbing him again no matter how ineffective it is. “I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that.”  
Yes, his brain was definitely short circuiting now. Too much information, too much everything. “You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking?” For the first time since they started talking it moves as it nods. “Buddy, next time, lower the volume.”  
“That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”  
He thought so because you’re his soulmate; Dean’s brain adds on, only to be ignored because Dean sure as hell isn’t ready to process that particular piece of information. Instead he asks about the body, and the why. He really needs to know why. He needs to hear it from it’s damn mouth, because no, good things don’t happen to Dean Winchester. Prime example of that is standing right in front of him and staring like it could go on doing it for forever. The answer he got was not one he expected to hear though.  
“Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you.”  
.  
.  
.  
Dean is drinking; there are many reasons why he is drinking alone in the dark. One is because he knows God and angels and all that crap isn’t real; and yet Castiel showed him his fucking wings. Another is because of course this is who his soulmate is; he doesn’t even have to take the arm guard off to know what he will see there and to know that is exactly what he heard yesterday. But the thing, Castiel, the angel, whatever, didn’t say anything about that at all. Like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t a big deal.  
But damn everything to hell, it is a huge ass fucking deal and he needs to drink until he passes out right here, right now.  
.  
.  
.  
Unluckily for him there is no time to have a huge angel freakout because the dead people are rising then, and time for Dean and his feelings is over again.  
They fight and survive because there is no other choice, but then Castiel is back and he is being a dick and Dean just can’t deal with anything anymore. Everything is happening too fast and there is no time to process, just to fight.  
“Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest.”  
“But you didn't.” Dean really wanted to punch him in the face, angel or not.  
Of course the dick disappeared before he has a chance to, and right after telling them that ‘hey, Lilith is trying to free Lucifer and it’s up to you to stop her’ because of course it fucking is. And if Dean drinks himself to sleep again that night, well Sam sure as hell says nothing about it. He isn’t sure he wouldn’t have punched his brother if he tried.   
“I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.”   
Dean takes another big gulp of gin as the words echo in his head in that baritone voice, feeling like a slap in the face. Dick.  
.  
.  
.  
“You made an exception for me.” Dean is not meeting his eyes as he speaks. It’s quiet around them and it’s making him want to whisper but he doesn’t. He stands his ground as their eyes meet and Cas hesitates.  
“You're different.”  
Dean is still standing there long after the angel is gone. The angel who is supposed to be a dick, but also his soulmate who he never wanted in the first place.  
People will start dying again no matter what they do, Dean is just the unlucky bastard who made sure of it. He is also the unlucky bastard who keeps seeing blue whenever he closes his eyes.  
It would have been easier if he was a dick.  
.  
.  
.  
The shower isn’t as relaxing as it was intended when he stormed in there before Sam had a chance to. All the blood and shit was off of him now but he has been staring at his Soulmark for a good ten minutes. The water is cold by this point. He doesn’t try to get out.  
So what if Cas isn’t a dick, and is trying to help after all. So what if his forearm is fucking bare. It’s not like he planned to do anything about it anyway. Dean never wanted a soulmate. Actually, this is perfect. He doesn’t have to deal with the talk. There is nothing to deal with because Cas doesn’t have a Soulmark.  
It hurt though. He was just getting used to everything, finally settling into a nice enough routine when he saw a glance of the others forearm during a fight earlier. Dean checked again before he left too. Nothing there still.  
He let himself slip down to the ground as the water continued pouring over him. Fuck.  
Of course he doesn’t have a Soulmark. Even thinking he does was stupid.He’s a damn angel; and you need a soul for a soulmark.  
It still hurt.  
.  
.  
.  
Cas exploded and Dean felt like throwing up.  
He spends the day locked into a motel room and away from everyone. The arm guard is discarded somewhere along with the three empty bottles of beer. He numbly follows along the words written on there.  
It feels like a joke.  
…  
Sam is keeping an eye on him because he apparently drinks too much now. He would think that all the years spent in hell and all the days Cas has been dead are a good enough excuse to give, but it’s not like he can tell Sam that. So he just shuts his mouth and sneaks in a beer when he can.  
However, that’s when Cas comes back and he is alive and all is good; except it’s not because all he wants to do is bring Cas into a hug and not let go for a long time. But he can’t do that. He ain’t Cas’s soulmate. Cas is just his and he wouldn’t understand any of it even if Dean tried to explain. Which he of course doesn’t. He doesn’t want a soulmate anyway. So he only hugs him for a second before letting go and then sneaks off to drink the first moment that he can.  
And if he finds a guy with a fugly jacket and blue eyes and let’s him fuck him in the dirty toilet stall; well, he isn’t going to think about that.  
.  
.  
.  
They have this weird ass friendship between them that Dean doesn’t know what to do with. Once, Cas has told him that he is not a hammer and that he has doubts. Then he rebelled and those doubts became something bigger as the three of them fought anything and everything that was thrown at them.  
With the apocalypse looming over them he didn’t even have time to think about the Soulmark still hidden on his arm. It’s not like there was much to think about anyway. It’s not happening and that was it. Dean was very much fine with that.  
More then fine.  
But then the angels started to fall and it all went to shit. Again.  
.  
.  
.  
Dean was drinking. He doesn’t think he will ever stop drinking. “What is it?” Hearing the words made him take a big gulp as he did his best to avoid looking at Cas.   
Looking at it.   
Cas was human and he was sitting on their couch, in a pair of Dean’s own sweat pants and a shirt. He was sitting there and looking at his arm with that weird little confused look on his face, that Dean didn’t even have to see to know it was there. He was right there and the man wanted to throw up.   
“It’s your Soulmark.” Sam was right there to explain because Dean sure as hell wasn’t going to. He doesn’t even know why he’s still there. He shouldn’t be here. He should just leave and come back after a good bender and no recollection of exactly how many people he slept with the night before. But no, instead he’s still sitting here as his legs refused to cooperate and get up. He needs to leave because he can’t look at the words on Cas’s arm anymore. He just can’t.  
“Soulmark?” He still wasn’t getting up.  
“It shows the first thing your soulmate will ever say to you.” Yes; Dean thought going to take another swing but finding the bottle, to his dismay, empty instead as Sam explained in his patient voice; It also brings pain and suffering. Sam’s glare from across the room was enough to not say it out loud though.  
There was silence. Dean tipped back the empty bottle in his hand so he doesn’t have to meet the eyes he could feel on him. He’s classy like that.  
“What does Dean’s say?”   
And there it was. The one million dollar question. Dean chuckled at his own joke. It might have been his second beer.  
The question made Sam laugh and Dean tried not to wince as he watched him clasp Cas on the shoulder. “Cas, man, even I don’t know that. He never shows it to anyone. But he has one.”  
“Dean?”  
Still refusing to meet anyone's eyes said man got up. “I’ll go get another beer. Anyone else?”  
Classy.   
Of course Cas, the bastard, still followed him to the kitchen like the idiot that he is.  
“Dean.” This wasn’t the ‘I'm going to smite you voice’; this was soft, almost a whisper. Cas was in his personal space again, and his hand was on Dean’s shoulder, but he will be damned if he actually turns around. Instead he opens his third beer of the night and takes another to go.  
“Leave it.”  
Dean spent the rest of the night hiding in his room and drinking himself to sleep. Of course this had to happen now. Of course it fucking did.  
.  
.  
.  
If he thought that Cas would actually listen to him for once and just leave it, he would have been wrong. More then once Dean would catch him staring at his arm guard like he was trying to see though it.  
Like everything else complicated in Dean’s life, the man ignored it.  
But it’s not like he could ignore Cas now; he was always there. He had a room in the bunker, he was in the kitchen every morning; drinking coffee like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He got into Dean’s personal space and helped Sam with research and was always just there with his damn Soulmark on show like he was mocking him.  
“Dean,” Said man was brushing his teeth when he was cornered; not for the first time. His eyes meeting blue trough the mirror. “What’s your Soulmark.”  
He spit in the sink and took a minute to compose himself before turning around. “It’s not important.”  
Cas was frowning at him. He was always frowning at him lately. “I would like to know.” He insisted in the end and the words made the other let out a bitter laugh.  
“Yea, well, I would like a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I’mma get them.”  
The look of hurt on Cas’s face haunted Dean for the next few days. It was for the best though. What good will him knowing do anyway. They will get his grace back and it will be gone again, like it was never there. Dean never wanted a soulmate anyway.  
The little voice in the back of his head saying that maybe he wants a Cas was ignored as it always was. If there was one thing Dean was good at, it was living in denial. And he ain’t gonna stop now.   
.  
.  
.  
With Cas around Sam stopped wearing his arm guard as some kind of a weird solidarity thing. He would look at Dean sometimes like he actually expected him to do the same. All it ever got him was an eye roll.  
After a while even Cas stopped cornering him; but he still looked at him sometimes like he wanted to rip the truth out of him with the power of will.   
It wasn’t the best situation, but Dean knew it was temporary so he continued being his friend and ignored the little warmth he felt whenever he saw the former angel follow the letters on his forearm with a fond little smile that he never saw before. Maybe it was just a human thing.   
He had a feeling it was more of a Cas thing though.  
.  
.  
.  
They got Cas’s grace back.   
On the ride back to the bunker and with only Sam as his passenger, fast asleep besides him, Dean let himself feel the loss of something he didn’t actually let himself have.  
“This is a good thing.” He said out loud even as no one could hear him; maybe because no one could hear him. “This is a good thing.”  
Cas is an angel again, the mark is gone and Dean is alone. Everything is as it should be.  
He’s gonna need a few beers to believe it.  
.  
.  
.  
There was a towel around his waist as he stood in the middle of the bathroom, fastening the arm guard on when he heard a fluttering of wings and a “Dean.”  
“Son of a Bitch!” The unexpected noise made him jump and almost drop the thing. As it was he just held on tighter, grit his teeth and turned around. “The hell man?”  
“I’m sorry to intrude, but I-” He was staring at his arm again and Dean was getting antsy. This was not how he planned his night to go.  
“Spit it out, will ya!”  
“I need to know what your Soulmark says.”  
He wishes he could say he was surprised by the words, but he really wasn’t. “Not this again.” Rubbing a hand down his face, Dean let out a sigh. “It says nothing. Doesn’t really matter. I’m sure you have better things to do then be here anyway.“  
“No.” Cas was still staring at him at an arms length; still in that damn ugly trench coat and determination in his eyes.  
He raised an eyebrow. “No?”  
“No. I will stay here until you show me.”  
“Well, you’ll have to wait a hell of a long time then, buddy.” He turned to leave, but an arm on his shoulder stopped him.  
“Please.” The word was said softly and Dean had to close his eyes so he doesn’t do something stupid like turn around.   
“Not gonna happen, Cas. Some of us just can’t get rid of ours like you can. And I’m not one for sharing.”   
The hand on his shoulder let go, but instead of the expected sound of wings followed by silence, there was rustling and a thump as something hit the floor. Of course Dean was just stupid enough to turn around.  
A few possible things crossed his mind as he turned, but seeing black letters on Cas’s outstretched arm wasn’t one of them.  
“I didn’t get rid of it.” He wasn’t looking at Dean anymore, but at his arm as he spoke; only looking up when Dean almost choked in surprise at the next words. “I like it, so I’m keeping it.”  
“You-um-You can do that?“ His brain was short circuiting again as he stared at the all too familiar words, feeling the other’s eyes piercing into his soul like they always seem to be doing.  
“I did it. I wanted it.”   
Wanted. The word was selfish. It was a human word, not meant for creatures like Cas. If it was said by anyone else it would have meant nothing. But right there; it meant so much. It meant everything.   
And Dean wasn’t sure he was ready for everything.  
He met his eyes anyway, as a hand wrap around the wrist of his left arm, touch almost burning.  
“Please.” Cas repeated the word and Dean was so far gone in this, nothing could save him from pain anymore no matter how much he was kicking and screaming.  
He still tried to save himself. “You’ll leave again.”   
“I’ll stay.” The words made him look away as he cleared his throat.  
“You got your mojo back, Cas.” The smile on his lips was weak but it was as much as he was capable of as he was still avoiding his eyes. “Nothing keeping you here anymore.”  
“You are.” Dean stopped breathing at the sureness of the others voice as he said it. As if it was that simple. As if Dean didn’t watch people run themselves into the ground because of this his whole life. “I’ll stay, as long as you want me to.”  
“What if I want you to never leave?” He was meeting his eyes again, but damn everything if seeing so much raw determination and want didn’t make him want to run and hide; and maybe drink a full bar.  
“Then I stay.” There was a tiny nod. Determined.  
Dean let out a breath he didn’t notice he was holding. “Just like that?”  
“Yes.” They held each others gaze and Dean was drowning. He was drowning and he was lost, because Cas isn’t supposed to be there. He isn’t supposed to want to.   
Good things don’t happen to Dean after all.  
He takes the guard off slowly before his brain even got the memo, really hoping he is not going to regret this one of this days as he clutches the thing in one hand and let's Cas still hold onto the other as the angels eyes fall on the flesh exposed to someone else for the first time in a long time.  
Dean doesn't have to look down to know what it says, so he keeps his eyes on Cas instead. Watching as his eyes soften and the corners of his lips lift up a bit before pressing two fingers onto the black ink of his arm.  
Dean takes a deep breath.   
Lets it go.

**Author's Note:**

> That's about it for now. May add a short little thing as a oneshot for after all of this, but not sure yet. Leave a comment if you're up for it.   
Thanks for reading :)


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